Chapter 4

At 1:30 p.m. the next day, Jin Zhaoxuan stood at the entrance of Lishan Nursing Home, feeling like a clumsy agent about to carry out a secret mission, his whole body screaming “I’m suspicious.”

He was wearing those expensively modified AR glasses on his face—

The temples of his glasses were so thick you could fit a sausage inside; they were filled with microcircuits and bone conduction headphones. Around his neck hung a hastily photoshopped ID card that read "Special Historical Researcher of Ansteel Museum." The photo on the ID was taken during his university years, making him look like a greenhorn who had wandered onto a film set.

The backpack contained even more interesting items: a backup power supply, a signal booster, three power banks (one of which was slightly warm and contained an agitated ghost from the Republican era), and a pack of tissues just in case—he had a feeling he might need them today.

"Are you nervous?" Jin Zhaoxuan asked softly into the microphone on his collar, his voice drifting like an underground party member making a rendezvous.

Yin Shaoqing's voice came through the earphones, with a crackling static, as if it were coming from an old-fashioned radio: "It's alright... but I haven't seen people in this way for eighty years, so I'm a little... nervous."

“It’s not that I haven’t seen anyone in eighty years, it’s that I haven’t ‘manifested’ in the real world in eighty years.” Jin Zhaoxuan corrected, casually adjusting his glasses that had slipped down to the tip of his nose. “Remember the procedure: the small window in the upper right corner of your glasses is your perspective, allowing you to see outside. If you need to say something, just tell me, and I’ll be your ‘human megaphone.’ Control your expressions! Don’t get so excited that you cry on the projection screen; our equipment can’t handle tears—even though you haven’t.”

“Okay.” Yin Shaoqing’s voice sounded like he was taking a deep breath (Do ghosts need to take deep breaths?).

Jin Zhaoxuan could understand. If he were to meet the female classmate who had pulled his hair in elementary school, he would probably disappear on the spot.

"Mr. Jin?" a voice came from behind.

Jin Zhaoxuan turned around and saw a middle-aged man in his fifties, wearing a faded work jacket, walking over with a net bag of oranges in his hand. His face was dark red, and he had the typical appearance of someone from an old factory area.

"Mr. Liu Jianjun?" Jin Zhaoxuan quickly reached out, almost knocking his glasses off.

“It’s me.” Liu Jianjun squeezed his hand tightly, so hard that Jin Zhaoxuan grimaced. He looked Jin Zhaoxuan up and down. “You are more… um, more down-to-earth in person than you appear on the live stream.”

Jin Zhaoxuan chuckled dryly: "The camera makes makeup look bad, the camera makes makeup look bad."

The two walked into the nursing home. Liu Jianjun clearly knew the way well, nodding and greeting the gatekeeper: "Uncle Li, the weather's nice today!" The gatekeeper waved: "Jianjun's here again? Grandma Xiulan was just talking about him."

"How's Grandma Xiulan doing lately?" Jin Zhaoxuan asked, trying to make his Northeastern accent sound natural.

"Her physical condition is alright, but her memory is like that old machine in our factory, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't." Liu Jianjun sighed and pushed open the stairwell door. "When I came last week, she mistook me for my father and insisted that I play checkers with her. If I go today, she might ask me again, 'Young man, who are you looking for?'"

He paused, then lowered his voice: "However, she always keeps bringing up things from her childhood, especially during the Lunar New Year. She always talks about a 'Little Brother Yin' whose hands are cool and who would cover her ears, saying that the sound of firecrackers is 'spring thunder'."

Jin Zhaoxuan felt the power bank on the side of his backpack, which was used to "house" Yin Shaoqing, vibrate noticeably and violently.

"This 'Little Brother Yin'..." Jin Zhaoxuan tentatively asked, "Did Grandma Xiulan mention anything else?"

“She said so,” Liu Jianjun said as they walked. “She said that Brother Xiao Yin was the adopted son of a Japanese senior engineer. He was always dressed neatly, but he was very approachable. He would squat down and talk to her at the same level. She also said that Brother Xiao Yin always had a… well, a smell of old books mixed with rust. My father also mentioned it, saying that the child was smart, but it was a pity that he had such a short life.”

"What a pity?" Jin Zhaoxuan's heart skipped a beat.

“After 45 years, there was no news.” Liu Jianjun shook his head. “Some people said he went back to Japan with his adoptive father, others said… sigh, that’s it. My father asked around for many years, but there was no news.”

They went to the innermost room on the third floor. The door was ajar, and inside sat an old lady with a full head of silver hair, neatly combed, staring blankly at a pot of green ivy on the windowsill. Her profile looked particularly serene in the afternoon light.

"Auntie!" Liu Jianjun pushed open the door and entered, his voice softening, "Look who's come to see you!"

The old lady slowly turned her head, her eyes a little cloudy, but when she saw Liu Jianjun, a childlike smile bloomed on her face: "Jianjun's here? Did you bring oranges? The ones from last time were so sweet."

“I brought it!” Liu Jianjun held up the net bag and stepped aside to let Jin Zhaoxuan in. “This is Comrade Jin, who studies the history of Ansteel. He’d like to have a chat with you.”

Jin Zhaoxuan quickly stepped forward and bowed slightly: "Hello, Grandma Liu, I'm sorry to disturb your rest."

Liu Xiulan squinted and scrutinized him carefully, her eyes somewhat bewildered: "You look kind of familiar, like my middle school classmate's younger brother."

Jin Zhaoxuan's smile froze a little: "That's...quite a coincidence."

He found a chair, carefully placed his backpack at his feet, and discreetly pressed a hidden button on the side of the backpack—the switch to turn on the miniature projector. A tiny projector head, no bigger than a button and hidden behind the second button, began to operate at extremely low brightness.

Through the earphones, Yin Shaoqing's voice was so soft it was almost inaudible: "Mr. Jin... I... can I see her?"

Jin Zhaoxuan nodded almost imperceptibly.

In the small window at the top right of the AR glasses, he saw Yin Shaoqing's face—pale and bloodless, with tightly pursed lips and wide-open eyes, staring intently ahead, as if trying to etch that figure into his (non-existent) soul.

From Liu Xiulan's perspective, a faint, semi-transparent figure dressed in an old-fashioned school uniform gradually appeared in the air beside Jin Zhaoxuan. This was an effect deliberately set up by the AR projection—hazy, soft, with slightly blurred edges, like the hazy, hazy feeling one gets when seeing things with presbyopia.

“Grandma Liu,” Jin Zhaoxuan cleared his throat, trying to make his voice sound steady and professional, “I heard from Mr. Liu that your father, Liu Fusheng, was a technician and a pillar of the Lishan Boiler Room back in the day?”

Liu Xiulan's eyes immediately lit up, like light bulbs being turned on: "My dad? He's amazing! That big thing in the boiler room, he can tell what's wrong just by the sound! Once..."

She began to recount, and although some of the timelines were jumbled and names were occasionally mixed up, the specific details—which year and month, which pipe was repaired, what type of valve was used, how cold it was, and what witty remark her coworker Old Li made—were all as clear as if they had happened just yesterday.

As Jin Zhaoxuan listened, he kept glancing at the projection that only he and Liu Xiulan could see out of the corner of his eye.

Yin Shaoqing stood there quietly, like a frozen statue. But Jin Zhaoxuan, wearing glasses, could clearly see his tightly clenched, white-knuckled hands, and the overflowing, surging sorrow and tenderness in his eyes.

When she got to the Spring Festival one year, Liu Xiulan suddenly stopped talking.

“That year during the Spring Festival…” she murmured, her gaze drifting unconsciously toward the direction of Yin Shaoqing’s projection, but not fully focused, as if trying to recall a vague dream, “I’m timid and I’m most afraid of firecrackers. There was a little boy… who covered my ears with his hands like this.”

She raised her withered hand and placed it lightly beside her ear, making a gesture as if covering her ear.

“He said…” Liu Xiulan’s voice became very soft and gentle, “Girl, don’t be afraid, this is not a scary noise, this is… this is spring thunder knocking on the door, it’s the sound of spring coming.”

The room suddenly became so quiet that you could hear the chirping of sparrows outside the window.

Jin Zhaoxuan held his breath, feeling like an untimely intruder.

Liu Xiulan stared at the blurry figure in the student uniform for a long time, so long that Liu Jianjun looked in the direction of her gaze with suspicion—of course, he couldn't see anything.

“Jianjun…” Liu Xiulan suddenly spoke softly, her tone tinged with uncertainty, “Isn’t there… someone standing over there? Wearing… um, a blue school uniform, like the kind in old photos?”

Liu Jianjun was taken aback, and looked carefully at the empty chair next to Jin Zhaoxuan: "Nobody's here, Auntie. Only Comrade Jin is sitting here. Are you seeing things?"

“No…” Liu Xiulan stubbornly shook her head, rubbed her eyes, and looked over again. “It seems… there is a shadow. Delicate and pretty… Sigh, I’m getting old, my eyesight isn’t what it used to be.”

She stopped dwelling on it and turned to look at Jin Zhaoxuan, her eyes filled with the curiosity and a touch of melancholy characteristic of an elderly person: "Comrade Jin, you're a researcher, do you know what happened to that young man who covered my ears...? My dad has been looking for him for a long time."

Jin Zhaoxuan's Adam's apple bobbed, and he felt his mouth go dry.

Through the earphones, Yin Shaoqing's voice trembled uncontrollably and was thick with a nasal tone: "Mr. Jin...please, tell her...I...I went to a very far place later, but...I'm fine, I've always...always remembered her, remembered everyone..."

But I can't say that.

Jin Zhaoxuan forced himself to remain calm and spoke in the most plain and researcher-like tone possible: "Based on the limited information we have found so far, this Mr. 'Xiao Yin' left Anshan after 1945, most likely heading south to the then Kuomintang-controlled area. After that... we lost contact with him."

“Southern…” Liu Xiulan lowered her head, her fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes. She remained silent for a while before slowly saying, “My father looked for him. He looked for him in 1946, and he also asked around in 1947… He said that the child had a hard life, having lost both his father and mother since childhood. He could only feel at ease knowing that the child was still alive and well.”

She looked up at the bright sunlight outside the window, sighed, and sighed with a deep-seated helplessness: "Later, I stopped looking. My father said it was better not to look... This world is chaotic. If I found him and found out he was not doing well, my heart would be even more tormented. I don't know if I can still keep a memory, thinking that he is safe and sound somewhere."

"Sizzle—"

In Jin Zhaoxuan's AR glasses, the image in Yin Shaoqing's projection window shook and distorted violently, with even a few tiny mosaic-like specks popping out at the edges. He frantically pressed a few buttons on the side of the glasses' temples before barely managing to stabilize the signal.

"Grandma Liu," Jin Zhaoxuan's voice unconsciously softened, as if afraid of disturbing something, "If... I mean if, now there's a chance for you to say something to that young man, what would you most like to say?"

Liu Xiulan thought about it carefully, and a clean yet slightly embarrassed smile slowly spread across her wrinkled face, like a little girl recalling sweet memories:

"Just say... thank you to him. In those years, if he hadn't covered it up, I wouldn't have dared to look up at the fireworks in the sky. I'm so grateful to him."

Her gaze returned to the window, her eyes distant, as if piercing through eighty years of time:

"Later, when I grew up, I wasn't afraid of setting off firecrackers anymore. But every year during the Spring Festival, when I hear the crackling sounds outside, I always think of those cold hands... and what he said."

"Spring thunder," Jin Zhaoxuan repeated softly.

“Oh, right!” Liu Xiulan nodded vigorously, her smile widening. “Spring thunder is the sound of spring. Look at me, this old senile man, I still remember the words clearly.”

The room fell silent again, with only the sunlight moving quietly.

Liu Jianjun glanced at his watch and stood up: "Auntie, it's time for your lunch break. We'll come see you again next time and chat with you a little longer."

"Okay, okay." Liu Xiulan nodded obediently, but her gaze swept over the location of Yin Shaoqing's projection again, with a stubborn search characteristic of the elderly. Then, as if talking to herself, or as if waving her hand gently in that direction, she said, "Then... goodbye to that Mr. Shadow."

Jin Zhaoxuan's heart skipped a beat, and a sour and hot sensation rushed into his nostrils. He quickly lowered his head and pretended to pack his backpack.

As he left the room and walked to the corner of the corridor, Jin Zhaoxuan couldn't help but look back.

Liu Xiulan was still sitting by the window, facing the doorway, the afternoon sun casting a soft golden glow on her. Her head was slightly lowered, her shoulders swaying gently, and she was humming a tune in an almost inaudible voice.

The melody is old, slow, and soft, like a lullaby.

Through the earphones, Yin Shaoqing's choked sobs could no longer be contained, breaking into broken voices: "It's...it's that song...that Japanese nursery rhyme...'Red Dragonfly'...that my foster mother used to lull me to sleep when I was little...I hummed it later...later when I lulled Xiulan to sleep..."

Jin Zhaoxuan turned around abruptly and strode forward, feeling that if he listened for another second, the pack of tissues would probably not be enough.

As they walked out of the nursing home and stood in the still slightly chilly spring breeze, Liu Jianjun handed Jin Zhaoxuan a local cigarette.

The two stood silently by the flowerbed, puffing away. Amidst the swirling smoke, Liu Jianjun suddenly spoke, his voice low, yet like a pebble dropped into still water:

"Mr. Jin, Professor Yin... I'm afraid you're not just a history researcher, are you?"

Jin Zhaoxuan's hand holding the cigarette trembled almost imperceptibly, and ash fell onto his shoe: "Brother Liu, what do you mean by that...?"

“Before my father passed away, he talked to me about many things.” Liu Jianjun took a deep drag of his cigarette and slowly exhaled, the smoke blurring his expression. “He said that Yin Shaoqing was a thoughtful and righteous man, and he left unwillingly… His soul probably hasn’t gone far and is still lingering in the old factory area because he has something on his mind that he hasn’t let go of.”

Jin Zhaoxuan felt the hairs on the back of his head stand up.

“My dad’s an old-fashioned man, he believes in all this superstitious stuff.” Liu Jianjun chuckled, flicking away his cigarette ash. “I didn’t believe it at all at first, thinking it was just old people’s wild imaginations. But after watching your live stream…”

He turned his head and looked at Jin Zhaoxuan, his eyes showing no doubt, only a knowing calm: "The things Teacher Yin talked about were so detailed and so real. It didn't seem like something he found in a file, but rather like... he himself had walked that path."

Jin Zhaoxuan opened his mouth, but found that all explanations seemed pale and powerless, so he simply kept it closed.

"Don't be nervous, I didn't mean anything by it, and I won't go around spreading rumors." Liu Jianjun stubbed out his cigarette by the flower bed. "I just wanted to... if Teacher Yin really... is still 'still' in some way, could you please pass on a message for me?"

He paused, his voice slightly choked, but he tried to remain calm:

“Tell him that the Liu family hasn’t forgotten him. My grandfather remembers him, my father remembers him, and my aunt… she’s always remembered him. When someone remembers you and thinks of you, that person… hasn’t lived in vain. Don’t you think that makes sense?”

Jin Zhaoxuan's Adam's apple bobbed violently a few times. He nodded emphatically, feeling his eyes burning: "Yes. That makes sense."

"Alright then." Liu Jianjun patted his shoulder forcefully, the force still strong, but with a touch of warmth. "If you need anything, just let me know. My father left behind a lot of old things, photos, notes, and some old blueprints... If you and Teacher Yin need anything, feel free to come over and take a look."

"Thank you, Brother Liu." Jin Zhaoxuan's voice was a little hoarse.

Liu Jianjun waved his hand, picked up the empty net bag, turned around and left, his figure quickly disappearing around the street corner.

Jin Zhaoxuan stood there, the afternoon sun shining warmly on him, but his heart felt like it was filled with both ice and fire, a state of extreme contrast.

On the side of the backpack, the special power bank was vibrating so frequently it was like it was on vibrate mode—the resident inside was clearly on the verge of emotional overload.

"Let's go home," Jin Zhaoxuan said in a low voice, as if speaking to Yin Shaoqing, but also as if speaking to himself.

Back in the old house in Taichung, the world instantly fell silent as I closed the door.

Jin Zhaoxuan carefully placed the still slightly vibrating power bank on the wireless charging pad, and a blue light lit up.

A few seconds later, a faint, almost invisible shadow floated out from above the power bank and slowly descended into the dressing mirror. Yin Shaoqing, with his back to the living room and facing himself in the mirror—or rather, in the depths of the mirror world—felt his shoulders trembling slightly and uncontrollably.

Jin Zhaoxuan poured himself a cup of hot water, leaned against the wall, and didn't say anything.

After a long while, Yin Shaoqing turned around, his eyes and the tip of his nose glowing faintly, like condensed water vapor—ghosts don't have tears, but that extreme sorrow seemed to be something that even a non-material being couldn't fully bear.

“I…” His voice was terribly hoarse, “I’m not sad… Mr. Jin, I’m… I’m happy.”

"Happy?" Jin Zhaoxuan raised an eyebrow and took a sip of water.

"Yes." Yin Shaoqing nodded vigorously, trying to force a smile, but it looked worse than crying. "She's alive, doing well, and still remembers those little things... remembers me. This is a thousand times, ten thousand times better than the best possible ending I ever imagined when I was trapped in the mirror."

As Jin Zhaoxuan looked at him, the ice in his heart seemed to melt a little, and a warm, bittersweet feeling welled up inside.

This fool, trapped for eighty years, his greatest obsession wasn't paying for his crimes, nor being reincarnated, but simply... to be remembered. To be remembered by those who once warmed his heart.

“She even hummed the song you taught her,” Jin Zhaoxuan said.

“The Red Dragonfly…” Yin Shaoqing said softly, his eyes softening. “My adoptive mother taught me this. She said that a good nursery rhyme doesn’t matter where it comes from; if it can lull a child to sleep peacefully, then it’s a good nursery rhyme.”

Jin Zhaoxuan didn't reply. He went to the kitchen, rummaged through drawers and cabinets, and found a small bottle of liquor that his father had hidden away sometime in the past. He had never heard of the brand, and it was covered in dust.

He poured two small cups, took one for himself, and placed the other on the table in front of the mirror, directly facing Yin Shaoqing.

"Want a drink?" He raised his glass.

Yin Shaoqing smiled bitterly, looking at the clear liquid in the glass, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes: "I...can't reach it."

“I know,” Jin Zhaoxuan said, raising his glass to his reflection in the mirror. “I’ll drink this for you. To… ‘Remember.’”

He tilted his head back, and the spicy liquid rolled down his throat, burning a hot line that shot straight into his nasal cavity and eye sockets.

Yin Shaoqing looked at him quietly, his clear eyes, belonging to the old era, filled with a tenderness that Jin Zhaoxuan had never seen before: "Mr. Jin, you are truly... an excellent person."

"No, I won't accept your 'nice guy' card." Jin Zhaoxuan waved his hand, coughing twice from the alcohol. "I just... can't stand seeing you like that. It's too pitiful, like an abandoned puppy."

"You've had a tough time too," Yin Shaoqing said. "Any progress on the company matters...?"

Jin Zhaoxuan thought about his plan to "persuade" Ansteel Museum to cooperate the next day, and felt a little more confident: "Let's talk about it tomorrow, even if it's a long shot."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You?" Jin Zhaoxuan looked him up and down. "Your biggest task right now is to 'recharge' and keep your spirits up, so that one day when I go live, you don't just 'poof' and scatter into a sky full of stars."

Yin Shaoqing chuckled, a smile that seemed much more genuine: "No way. Brother Liu said his father left behind some old blueprints?"

"Hmm. You want to see?"

“I want to.” Yin Shaoqing’s expression turned serious. “Perhaps… we can find some clues. Clues about those documents that my adoptive father insisted on destroying back then.”

Jin Zhaoxuan put down his wine glass: "Just how important are those documents?"

Yin Shaoqing remained silent for a moment before slowly saying, "It's so important... that it could lead some people to make utterly heinous decisions. Before my adoptive father died, he repeatedly said only one thing: 'We can't let them take it.' I still don't know who 'they' are. But that batch of technology... if it falls into the hands of those who shouldn't have it, I'm afraid..."

He didn't finish speaking, but Jin Zhaoxuan could already feel the heavy weight of his words.

“Okay.” Jin Zhaoxuan nodded readily. “In a couple of days, I’ll ask Brother Liu to let us go to his house for some ‘archaeology’.”

Yin Shaoqing smiled, this time a genuine and relaxed smile: "Thank you."

"Thank you again?" Jin Zhaoxuan glared at him. "If you thank me again, I'll really start charging you! Compensation for emotional distress, equipment wear and tear, and my service fee as a 'human mouthpiece'!"

"How should we collect it?" Yin Shaoqing asked very seriously.

"Hmm..." Jin Zhaoxuan stroked his chin, his eyes darting around, "From now on, the live stream tips will be 70% for you and 30% for me!"

“Okay.” Yin Shaoqing replied without hesitation.

"...I was just kidding!" Jin Zhaoxuan almost jumped up.

“I mean it.” Yin Shaoqing looked at him, his eyes clear and solemn. “If it weren’t for Mr. Jin, I would still be in the mirror, unaware of the passage of time, waiting to perish. Everything I have now is thanks to you. Let alone seventy-three, it wouldn’t be too much to give it all to you.”

Jin Zhaoxuan felt his face flush under his gaze, looked away, and muttered, "Stop with the cheesy stuff... Go get some rest and recharge. Tomorrow I have to outwit those cultural types at the museum."

“Sir, there’s no need for a ‘fight,’” Yin Shaoqing said with a smile. “What you’ve done is already a very meaningful thing.”

Jin Zhaoxuan didn't reply, waved his hand haphazardly, and fled back to his room as if escaping.

After closing the door and leaning against the cold door panel, he could still vaguely hear Yin Shaoqing humming the old song "Red Dragonfly" in a very soft and gentle voice in the living room.

He suddenly remembered Yin Shaoqing's words: "A good song doesn't have to be from where it comes."

Where are they?

Perhaps it is the same.

Regardless of life or death, transcending time. Memories earned through sincerity are treasures that time cannot steal.

Jin Zhaoxuan lay down on the bed and took out his phone. The screen lit up; it was a draft cooperation proposal from the Ansteel Museum, titled "Preliminary Conception of the 'Ansteel Memory' Digital Immersive Experience Project".

He read it through word by word, then opened the reply box and typed:

The proposal has been reviewed and the direction is satisfactory. I will bring the core project team to your esteemed institution tomorrow afternoon at 2 PM for further discussion.

send.

Almost immediately, my phone vibrated, and the other party replied:

[Received, looking forward to the meeting. Also, our colleagues were deeply impressed by the historical depth and compelling storytelling of Mr. Yin Shaoqing during your live broadcast. We wonder if he will be able to attend tomorrow?]

Jin Zhaoxuan stared at the words, his lips slowly parting into a smile that was a mixture of exhaustion, absurdity, and a touch of smugness.

“Of course.” He typed back quickly, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “He will go.”

After all, this "soul" is currently in the living room, humming Japanese nursery rhymes while charging up.

Although the operation of this core system is mainly supported by electricity costs and the nearly depleted conscience of a certain CEO.